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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145306">Forging Romance (With Minor Misadventures)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot'>Onehelluvapilot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Febuwhump [22]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blacksmith Elyan (Merlin), Burns, Cute, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Lancelot (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:33:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Elyan has been teaching Lancelot how to blacksmith. It was only a matter of time before his first injury</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elyan/Lancelot (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Febuwhump [22]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Forging Romance (With Minor Misadventures)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Betaed by LiGi</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You remember what I showed you?” Elyan asked, looking up at Lancelot. The other man nodded, and slipped the metal bar in his hand into the forge. He was working on his first sword, and the more experienced craftsman couldn’t be more proud of how adept at blacksmithing he’d become in such a short time. Gwen had been showing him some things before her brother returned to Camelot, but her job as a servant had kept her busy and once she started going out with Arthur their lessons had become much less frequent. Lancelot had mostly worked on small household items he could sell, and though he’d crafted some knives, they had been short and of low quality and price. Swords sold to the royal army had to be of a much higher standard. Elyan himself had been fifteen before he made his own first sword, and had only completed a few before leaving home. He’d had time to master his craft during his time working in Caerleon, and after his kidnapping and return home to Camelot he’d quickly gotten his father’s forge up and running again and renewed his family contract with the king.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only really pretending to polish the sword he himself was finishing, Elyan kept a close eye on Lancelot as he pulled the metal from the fire and began working it. To an outside observer the man would look perfectly calm, but that was because he had a habit of hiding his emotions. After several months of working closely together, living together, and having become lovers not long into their acquaintance, though, Elyan could see the telltale signs of his nervousness. Lance didn’t allow it to affect his work, probably pushing away his emotions in the same way he would during a swordfight in order to concentrate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stance was the main indication. Though it would have been more comfortable for him to take a different posture while working the metal over the anvil, his feet were placed widely apart in a way that would have given him stability and control during a sword fight. Elyan didn’t even know if the man himself noticed his habit, but whenever he was on edge about anything, whether someone had insulted Merlin or Gwen, there was a threat to the kingdom, or even just worried about doing a good job on the project, he fell into the stance. Instinctively, he was trying to be prepared. It was a shame that he had had such a rough childhood that he was used to constantly being on guard and being forced to defend himself and others, but at the same time it was a testament to his strength that he had survived and learned to deal with it as well as he had. Elyan felt pride surge in his chest as he watched his companion work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His form was a little off, partly due to his strange stance, and he would hurt his elbow if he continued to hammer in the way he was doing for too long, but there was still a grace in his form that he watched intently. The forge was hot, as it always was, so Lancelot’s shirt stuck to his body with sweat and his curly hair was slicked down across his forehead. Elyan thought about brushing it back with his thumb before taking his lover’s face in his hands and pulling him down for a kiss. He must’ve worn a slightly dreamy expression as he considered it, because Lancelot’s lips quirked into an amused smile when he looked up and made eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you just watching me?” he asked. The more experienced blacksmith realized that he had stopped polishing the sword he held entirely, his hand clasped around the whetstone but not moving. His face flushed even warmer than the toastiness of the forge at the acknowledgement that he had completely dropped the pretense of working in favor of ogling his lover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he admitted. “Sorry, I can stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s alright, I don’t mind,” Lancelot rushed to reassure him. The taught line of his shoulders, though, even now that he’d put down the hammer, gave away the lie. The scrutiny of being watched so closely while working his first sword was clearly making him self conscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I should really get back to work too,” Elyan said. He set aside his whetstone and picked up another half-finished sword to take to the grinding wheel. This one was… well, it would take a bit more grinding than most other blades, since Lancelot had done the finishing on it. It wasn’t terrible, since Elyan had stood at his shoulder and helped guide him through it, but it had also been his first time doing it so it wasn’t great either. Hopefully the sword he was working on now would be a little better. The learning blacksmith had done each section of the process several times now, and this was just his first time putting it all together on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elyan started turning the grinder by hand and then switched to the foot treddle to keep it going as he began to grind the blade down. He had just taken it off to check the edge when there was a barked shout behind him, followed by the clatter of a tool hitting the floor. Instantly he spun around to see Lancelot standing with a pained grimace on his face, clutching his hand to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Burn?” he asked quickly, already stepping over the dropped pair of tongs. He had a good idea of what happened before Lancelot even nodded; the tool wasn’t glowing hot, but it had probably been left too close to the furnace and Lancelot had grabbed it by accident without realizing. He’d done the same thing a few times when he’d been learning. Elyan did now what his father had done with him then; he quickly grabbed the other man by the arm and pulled him over to the quenching barrels. Forcing himself to ignore his lover’s hiss of pain, he pushed the burned limb into the water and held it there. Lance tried to jerk it back, but he kept a firm hold around his wrist and after letting out a groan the injured man started to relax, though he was still panting as he tried to recover his breath. Elyan raised his other hand up to his back and began to rub soothing circles into the tight muscles there. “Easy, just breathe,” he ordered. Lancelot, whose face was still pinched in pain, sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m such an idiot,” he mumbled. “I was just so nervous about messing up that I wasn’t paying attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright. We all make mistakes,” the more experienced blacksmith reassured him. “You’ve seen all the scars on my arms. Almost all of them are from equally careless little screw ups.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lancelot didn’t respond to that, just stared down at his hand in the water. He already had a bad tendency to blame himself, even for things that were not his fault, and it would take a good deal of convincing for him to believe that he wasn’t a failure for an accident like this. That could wait until later, though. For now, Elyan just stayed with him, holding his own hand in the water as well in solidarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has the pain subsided?” he asked after about five minutes. “And I mean actually gone away, not just that you can power through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, mostly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Keep your hand submerged for just another minute as I go get a clean cloth.” Before he left, he made sure Lancelot was holding onto the edge of the barrel with his other hand in case he got lightheaded because of the injury, and he hurried into their house to find a clean piece of cloth and some bandages. He set them down on a relatively clean workbench in the forge and pulled a stool up to it before returning to his boyfriend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let me see it?” he asked, and Lancelot slowly removed his hand from the water. His palm was red and slightly swollen, along with the undersides of his fingers, and Elyan knew from experience that it would start to blister before long. The skin was unbroken, however, and even after he patted it dry, it remained looking a little glossy, which meant that the burn didn’t extend too deep into the skin. He led Lance over and sat him down on the stool before beginning to wrap his hand gently in bandages. “It isn’t bad,” he reassured him. “We probably don’t even need to go to Gaius. I’ll apply some honey to it tomorrow, but for now, just avoid using the hand,” he instructed as he tied off the bandage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I can’t keep working on the sword?” Lancelot asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Best not to. It’ll still be waiting for you when you’re healed.” He bent just slightly to kiss Lancelot’s forehead, tasting the salt of the sweat that beaded on his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to be useless until it heals,” he complained sadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not useless, babe, and you never will be,” Elyan reassured him. “If you insist on keeping busy though, we do have a number of knives which need handles attached, and gods know there’s enough cleaning to be done around here. And this might be the perfect time for you to have Merlin over for dinner like you’ve been wanting to do.” Those things could all be accomplished without putting much pressure on the injury. It might’ve seemed cruel to burden Lancelot with so many tasks, but his boyfriend knew that he would be much more unhappy sitting around doing nothing than even doing chores. He liked to stay useful, and his self-esteem suffered when he couldn’t. “Plus, I think your left hand sword fighting needs a little work. We should spar sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lancelot managed a smile at that; the two loved fighting, the exertion and connection of it, and oftentimes it resolved into something a little more intimate. “I’d like that,” he agreed. “Even though I can’t use my own sword yet.” That earned a laugh from Elyan, and the two of them kissed again before returning to work.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments/kudos make my day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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